


Rounds

by Andalusa93



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Memory Loss, Merfolk AU, Modern Middle Earth, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Shire AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-01 07:21:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 10,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5197265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andalusa93/pseuds/Andalusa93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Series of short stories written for the Strife vs Moo Fic Battle on Tumblr. <br/>Chapter titles are the prompts<br/>Strife's fics can be found <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5150909/chapters/11859032">here</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Memory Loss

It was unbearably cold, as he came to and all Bilbo could focus on was the violent shivering of his body and a throbbing pain in his head. He gingerly touched a couple of fingers to the nasty cut on his forehead and hissed. There was blood and dirt on his hands, the unfamiliar coat he wore was ripped and burned in places, the more Bilbo took in his surrounding, the more confused he became.

This wasn’t the Shire. Bilbo managed to push himself to his feet and looked around at the grey stone and ice surrounding him. His brow furrowed and he stumbled forward a couple of steps. Perhaps he had gone for a walk and managed to get lost, maybe he fell and hit his head. Nothing seemed to add up. The last clear memory he could recall was being sat on the bench outside Bag End, despite the stinging chill in the air, he could almost feel the warmth of the sun on his skin from that day. How could he have lost so much time?

His feet collided with something then, a metallic clatter drew his attention to the sword skittering across the frozen surface of the river. Bilbo picked it up, turned it this way and that, to admire the blade, clearly of elvish origin, considering the beautiful curves and almost iridescent sheen of the metal.

With a shrug he let it fall to the ground again. What use would he have for a sword? Further inspection of this strange place only summoned more questions. Bilbo spied a lone figure stood close to the edge of the cliff, he was about to call out to them when this person swayed on the spot for a moment and then collapsed.

Bilbo heard himself shout as he ran over to the stranger. Before he knelt down he caught a glimpse of the valley below and what he saw almost made him retch. It was a massacre. Even from this distance he could see countless bodies strewn on the bloodstained ground, viscous war cries pierced the air, it was nearly enough to drown out the distant wails of agony.

The person, dwarf, on the ground spoke then. At least he tried to. All that came out was a pained gasp. Eventually he found his words, and the first one to come out of his mouth startled the hobbit so much he jerked his hands back from where they were pressed against the dwarf’s wound.

“Bilbo,” he choked out, “I am glad you are here.”

Bilbo stared at him for a moment, he slowly put pressure back on the wound to try and stop the flow of blood. The dwarf sighed then, his entire body relaxed and he gazed at Bilbo.

“I wish to part from you in friendship.”

“I’m sorry.” Bilbo shook his head and frowned. “Do I- do I know you?”

Beneath his hands, the hobbit felt the dwarf tense up again. His eyes were blue, filled with pain, resignation and confusion. He raised a hand and went to place it on Bilbo’s cheek, but the hobbit flinched away from the unfamiliar touch.

“Bilbo,” he breathed, “I understand my words and deeds at the gate were unforgivable, but please, do not do this.” The dwarf coughed, his face contorted in agony. He took a couple of deep breaths before he continued, “please, I beg of you, forgive me.”

“I don’t… I’m sorry,” Bilbo retracted his hands again, jerking away when the dwarf reached out to take one, “I should go and get help.”

As he raced away from the dying dwarf he could hear his name being repeated along with desperate pleas. Bilbo told the first dwarf he could find about the one on top of that hill with all the ruins. The battle he saw from the cliff had all but ended, there were men and elves along with the dwarves, orc corpses littered the muddy, churned ground.

Bilbo made his way through the sparse crowd of people milling about, occasionally he heard his name, but every time he turned around he could see no one he recognised. The hobbit was so busy taking in everything going on around him he somehow managed to walk right into someone.

“Bilbo Baggins!” The tall man in grey exclaimed with a sad smile. “I am so very glad to see you.”  
“I’m sorry,” Bilbo stammered slightly, his words tripping over each other as he struggled to get them out, “I don’t- do we- who-“

He was interrupted before he could string a full sentence together. “Gandalf!” A dark haired dwarf wearing a much worn hat emerged from the gathering crowd. “We’ve found him.”

He stood to the side and Bilbo gasped as a huge bear walked slowly towards them, he lowered his front legs and bowed his head. The hobbit watched as the body on the bears’ back was carefully manhandled into a nearby tent. This Gandalf fellow was muttering under his breath, he shot a mysterious look at Bilbo before he made his way into the tent as well.

The bear and the dwarves that had accompanied it but remained outside all looked at Bilbo expectantly. He shook his head again and gave them all a questioning look.

“Are ye not gonna see ‘im?” The dwarf in the hat asked.

“Who?”

That one word earned a collective gasp from the dwarves.

“Thorin,” said a dwarf with bushy red hair, “your Thorin.”

“I don’t…” Bilbo sighed and looked over his shoulder at the tent. He straightened up and let a breath of air out through his nose and said very matter-of-factly: “I am very sorry for your loss, but I don’t know any Thorin, I don’t even know why I am here. I just want to go home.”

A dwarf with a long grey-white beard came out of the tent and put a hand on Bilbo's shoulder. "You should stay," he said, "he might live and you could remember."

The hobbit looked over the field of dead bodies and closed his eyes, “there’s nothing here I want to remember.”


	2. Everyone was laughing but you

The first day was the worst, Thorin knew it would be. Though he was used to it, starting at a new school was never easy, it would be even more difficult this time around considering they were already halfway through the academic year. Everyone already had their friend groups and no one was looking to welcome a new member to their clique. Fresh Meat, someone had called him, and that was exactly what he felt like. Unwelcome, unwanted, an outsider.

Perhaps it was because he tried to keep to himself and distance himself from his peers that he became an easy target, needless to say that every day that followed the first only seemed to get worse. There was name calling and the occasional practical joke at Thorin’s expense but he always shook it off and carried on as if nothing had happened.

Everything seemed to come to a head on the last day before the Easter break. Thorin was cornered in the bathroom by Azog and his little gang, after a brief conflict, Thorin had ended up with a bloody lip and Azog walked away with a cocky grin and Thorin’s key shaped pendant.

Thorin called him out when the altercation spilled out into the hallway, demanding him to give the pendant back, but Azog chuckled and pinned him against the wall.

“You want your pretty jewellery back?” he taunted, “try and take it from me, princess.”

The scuffle that followed left Thorin on the floor and Azog laughing along with everyone else that had crowded around to watch. It was obvious no one was going to help him, so Thorin pulled himself into a seated position and used the wall to support himself. People eventually dispersed and Thorin was left alone seething with anger.

A gentle hand on his shoulder startled him, he jerked away from the touch but when he looked around to see who it was, he let himself relax.

“Are you okay?” the boy asked as he crouched down.

“Peachy!” Thorin said and rolled his eyes, “obviously I’m perfectly fine.”

“Sorry.” He ducked his head and his dark blonde curls bounced. “Stupid question.”

The stranger moved so he was sat cross legged in front of Thorin. He sighed and silence fell around them for a moment. It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but he wasn’t used to having company when he was brooding.

“The other kids shouldn’t have laughed,” the boy said eventually.

“No, really?” Thorin gasped mockingly, “ because I thought it was hilarious.”

The boy arched an eyebrow at him, “oh yes, it’s obvious you were having a great time as Azog beat the shit out of you.”

“Excuse you, I handled myself just fine.”

“Clearly,” he said in a flat voice.

Thorin stared at him, this strange person he had never met before, and said nothing. Maybe it was some other joke being made at his expense. The boy stared right back, though his features were soft there was a steely determination in his eyes.

“I’m Thorin,” he introduced himself.

“Bilbo,” the boy replied, he held out a hand for him to shake and Thorin took it with barely any hesitation. “Now let’s get that lip cleared up.”

They had already missed one class, and with it being the last day before the holiday, they decided to skip the rest of their classes for that day. After the blood was wiped off of Thorin’s face, they walked to the town centre to buy some lunch. He was still cautious of Bilbo, but the more the other boy talked the more relaxed Thorin became.

There was something about him, something different Thorin couldn’t quite place, almost like familiarity but new and exciting. On their first day back at school after easter, Bilbo presented Thorin with his pendant. When questioned about how he came to have it he merely shrugged and smiled mysteriously.

The rest of the year went by relatively peacefully, Thorin was glad he had allowed himself to make a friend, even if it made leaving harder. When he told Bilbo he might be moving away at the end of the summer, he surprised them both when he pressed a firm kiss to Thorin’s lips.

As luck would have it, Thorin and his family ended up staying for another year allowing him to finish his A levels and remain with Bilbo. They went to different universities in the end, but they weren’t apart for long, Thorin dropped out after one semester and moved in with Bilbo despite his protests.

“I never really wanted to go to uni anyway,” Thorin assured him, “my father wanted me to, but I’m not sure if it something I ever wanted for myself.”

“If you’re sure,” Bilbo murmured, “you worked very hard to get the grades you needed.”

“I’m sure.”


	3. Locked Out

Bilbo would never be used to locks on one’s front door. They were never necessary in the Shire, no respectable hobbit would ever dream of entering someone else’s house unannounced, let alone steal their belongings. Unless you were named Bilbo Baggins and you had disappeared for the better part of a year and been presumed dead, of course. Apparently that was reason enough to go into his home and sell all of his worldly possessions to the highest bidder.

He still often forgot to make sure the royal suit was secure when he left it, not that the door even required a lock when there were guards stationed nearby. Now Bilbo had the opposite problem. He had remembered to lock the door and somehow managed to misplace the key as he went about his business. He double checked all of his pockets with a little frown and huffed when the search proved to be fruitless once again.

“Is there a problem, Master Baggins?” one of sentries at the end of the corridor peered over his shoulder at the rather distressed looking hobbit.

“No!” Bilbo assured him, he flashed a quick smile and turned on his heel.

According to his mother a lost thing can always be found if you retrace your previous steps. According to the lack of keys in his possession, this statement wasn’t true. Bilbo had spent a good number of hours returning to various places he had already visited that day.

After admitting defeat to that particular venture, Bilbo resolved to try and find Nori, perhaps the thief could pick the lock. When Thorin finished his duties for the day and returned to their home he would request a new key be made for him. Unfortunately Nori was as elusive as ever and that was also a dead end.

Bilbo sighed. He had no idea how much longer Thorin would be away and he certainly didn’t want to mill about in the hallway waiting. All he wanted to do was have a nice soak in the bath while he caught up on his reading. There was nothing else for it, he set off again, this time in the direction of the throne room to seek out his husband.

One good thing about his status as Consort was he could interrupt pretty much any meeting or council Thorin was taking part in and not be reprimanded for it. More than once a quick visit to see the dwarf king resulted in him being dragged into whatever issue they were discussing. This alone was enough of a deterrent to stay away and let Thorin do his job. Whenever this happened Bilbo would invariably end up with a headache.

Still, he knocked politely on the door of the council chamber before entering. Bilbo was greeted with varying levels of enthusiasm from those he knew and a respectful nod of the head from those he didn’t.

“Afternoon,” Bilbo said, forcing a smile onto his face, “I hope everything is going well, I just need to speak with His Majesty for a moment.”

The ambassador from the Iron Hills wolf-whistled and winked at Thorin who just rolled his eyes and got to his feet. “If you would excuse me,” he said to the assembly of dwarves, “I will not be long.”

Bilbo waited until Thorin rounded the table to walk with him to an adjoining room. He pointedly ignored the muttering of the others as the door closed, though they were soon forgotten when Thorin gently gripped his shoulders and touched their foreheads together.

When they parted the Dwarf King removed his crown and placed it on the table next to them with a sigh. “Wearing that thing is such a pain.”

“Then don’t wear it,” Bilbo said with a fond smile, “it’s not likely that they will suddenly forget that you’re the king.”

“I could name a few dwarves who would take full advantage of the situation if I neglected to wear the damned thing when I’m supposed to.”

Bilbo tilted his head in thought, a genuine smile pulled at the corners of his lips. “Very true, would a smaller one not suffice?”

Thorin snorted and embraced the hobbit, his chin rested on top of Bilbo’s curls and his chest vibrated as he hummed with contentment. Bilbo wrapped his arms around his husband and pressed his face into the fur of Thorin’s coat, they remained like that for a short while.

Or maybe that ‘short while’ ended up being slightly longer than either of them realised. A quiet knock on the closed door make them both jump, though neither chose to move.

“To whom or what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Thorin eventually asked.

“I need your key to our rooms,” Bilbo told him.

“What happened you yours?” 

“I might have misplaced it,” the hobbit mumbled into Thorin’s coat.

“Might have?” Thorin loosened his grip on Bilbo and they moved apart.

Bilbo crossed his arms and gave a wry smile. “Definitely misplaced it”

“And how desperately do you want that bath of yours?” Thorin grinned, there was a mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

“Who said anything about a bath? I just want the key.”

“I would be willing to bet the entire hoard of Erebor that a bath is the reason you are so desperate to get home.” Thorin placed a soft kiss on Bilbo’s forehead. “Don’t think I do not know you, love.”

Bilbo didn’t reply, instead he held out his hand for the key.

“On one condition,” Thorin said, “that you wait a little longer to draw the bath, I wish to join you tonight.”


	4. ...he denied he ever said it.

It was a long road, longer than he remembered it being.

The first time he walked it was so long ago now, it felt like it had happened in a different lifetime.

Accompanied by only twelve dwarves, a wizard and a reluctant hobbit, together they endured many hardships and delays to reach the mountain in time. Against all odds they managed to win back Erebor.

It wasn’t all smooth sailing. He had almost died, he would have been happy to but for Bilbo’s words. ‘You can’t die.’ He said, clutching at Thorin’s hands, his head bowed and tears threatening to run down his mud streaked face. ‘You just can’t, I love you.’

‘I love you.’

Thorin never had a chance to say it back though he wanted to, above all other things he wanted to, but when he awoke from the delirium of his fever the hobbit had already departed. 

The first time was to reclaim his home.

The second time he walked it was more recently, this time in reverse, and it was only a few weeks ago that he had reached journey’s end.

 

It was somewhat more peaceful this time, there was no need to rush and no cause to avoid anyone. Most of the company had chosen to join him again as they too wanted to see their burglar and some of the friends they had made along the way.

More than a year had passed since Bilbo left them and that was plenty of time for Thorin to realise many things. He realised that he didn’t want to be king, he wanted the kingdom back but he didn’t want to rule it. He realised that Erebor didn’t actually feel like the home he wanted it to be. Much was the same as he remembered it, but so much had changed. He had changed.

Thorin also realised that his home was with his heart, and that his heart rested with a hobbit half a world away.

The second time was to reclaim his heart.

The third time he walked it would also be the last, there was no reason for him to do so again.

 

It was so quiet. No one tried to make any conversation, it seemed wrong to do so. Thorin lead the procession of silent dwarves back towards the east, he swayed in his saddle and kept his eyes forward.

He tried to rid himself of the numb sensation that creeped over his body, he tried not to think about what had transpired in the Shire, and he tried to forget everything that had happened before. Nothing worked. His mind always drifted back to the moments he had cherished, those glorious memories tainted with these new revelations.

The days were only just bearable. The nights were not.

Whenever Thorin closed his eyes he could see Bilbo’s face and hear his words. Not the shock or surprise, they were things he had expected. What he didn’t expect was the anger and, worst of all, the denial.

“But I heard you,” Thorin pleaded with him, “I heard you say it.”

“No, Thorin.” Bilbo looked at him, his jaw clenched.

They went back and forth like this for a while, every time Bilbo said ‘No.’ it felt like a blow to the chest. Thorin was so sure he heard those words, he held onto them like a lifeline, they pulled him back when he was so close to giving up.

But still the hobbit refused yield.

“I don’t love you!” Bilbo eventually shouted. His eyes were wide and his chest was heaving. “Not in the way you want me to!” He took a breath and looked away, “not anymore.”

Thorin couldn’t say anything, he just stared, unable to believe it, and yet that look on Bilbo’s face said more than his words. Then as quickly as it was there, the panic and frustration, it was gone. Bilbo’s expression soften when he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I’m sorry, Thorin,” he said.

“Don’t.” It was all Thorin could manage before his voice broke. “Just don’t.” He could feel his mind spiralling, he felt out of control.

“What ever there was between us, it’s gone now.”

Bilbo glanced down at the floor, when he looked up their eyes met. Thorin could see unshed tears, a slight tremble to his bottom lip and his nose twitched the way it always did when he was nervous.

“You were dying. I thought…” Bilbo told him, barely above a whisper, “you said you wanted us to part as friends, I thought that’s all I was to you, so we did and I moved on.”

The hobbit paused for a moment, maybe he expected Thorin to say something, when he didn’t, Bilbo continued, “why didn’t you send a message? Or tell me that you loved me when you had the chance?”

Thorin took a couple of deep breaths and stepped towards Bilbo, when he moved away, Thorin stopped, took back the hand that had been reaching out.

“Bilbo, I should have, I know. But I thought I was going to die, you saw what happened, and after what I did to you how could I be worthy of your love?” The dwarf shook his head. “What right did I have you say those words to you? I didn’t even know you felt the same until you said it.”

“It’s too late now.” Bilbo turned to walk away. “You can stay the night, but you need to leave tomorrow.”

The third time he realised he had lost both.


	5. Erase

“Are you writing again?”

Bilbo paused, his quill hovered above the blank page of his book, and he peered over his shoulder at Thorin who stood leaning against the door frame with a pout on his face. The hobbit rolled his eyes and turned back to his work.

“I never get to spend any time with you,” Thorin complained, “you’re always busy doing one thing or another.”

“The things I do are kind of necessary, dear.” Bilbo raised his eyebrows, daring his husband to say otherwise. This was a non-argument that happened on an almost daily basis and Bilbo always won. 

Thorin moved into the study and leaned on the back of Bilbo’s chair. “Your tomato plants won’t suddenly sprout legs and flee from your garden if you neglect them for one day.”

“You don’t know that.” The hobbit rolled his eyes and tried to focus on writing. Though it was proving to be quite difficult as Thorin started tracing a now familiar pattern on his back.

“I do, actually,” he hummed, his voice had become dangerously low and Bilbo could feel his breath against the shell of his ear, he tried not shiver and failed. “Never have I heard a tale where a vegetable is suddenly able move of its own accord.”

Bilbo’s eyes drifted shut and he silently cursed himself for allowing such a small thing to easily distract him. “Tomatoes are fruits,” he corrected the dwarf absently.

“What?” The movement of Thorin’s finger halted for a moment.

“They are fruits, not vegetables,” Bilbo said and turned in his seat, “and I’ll have you know that there are plenty of stories about walking plants.”

“Oh really?” That grin was still plastered on Thorin’s face and there was a faint blush that no doubt matched his own as he leaned down so he was level with the hobbit.

“Yes, have you never heard of the tree herders?”

The dwarf cocked his head and sighed, “I get the feeling you are going to tell me regardless of my answer.”

Bilbo opened his mouth to answer, but instead of words, all that escaped him was a great shriek of surprise as Thorin caught him round the middle and lift him off the chair. Thorin chuckled as the hobbit writhed in his grip, though he was fighting dirty to regain his freedom, there was no mistaking the laughter bubbling from Bilbo’s lips when Thorin placed an open mouthed kiss on the skin of his neck.

“You let me go, Thorin, or I will erase you from the story altogether!”

The threat worked and he released his grip on the hobbit, not by much, he still had to squirm to escape the loop of Thorin’s arms. Bilbo straightened his shirt and huffed as he took his seat once again.

“You can’t do that, I am a very important character,” Thorin insisted.

The pout from before had returned and Bilbo so desperately wanted to kiss it away

“Yes, you are, aren’t you?” Bilbo smirked and picked up his quill. “Very important.”


	6. Wind

“I don’t like to think what Thorin would do when he finds out what you’ve done,” Gandalf warned him.

“I'm not afraid of Thorin,” Bilbo had said to Gandalf, and he wasn’t, there was no reason for him to be. The trust Thorin had placed in him was mutual.

“Well, you should be,” the wizard said, his voice insistent, “don’t underestimate the evil of gold, gold over which a serpent has long brooded.” He sighed then and placed a heavy hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. “Dragon-sickness seeps into the hearts of all who came to this Mountain. Almost all.”

Dragon-sickness. Balin had mentioned it as well, called it ‘a fierce and jealous love’. It was true, the dwarf was acting strange, but it was just some spell he was under, it would break if Bilbo could just get through to him. He had seen it happen once before, there was no reason why it shouldn’t happen again.If he could get Thorin to realise what he was doing, how his actions were affecting everyone around him, there was a chance. 

-

The following day proved Bilbo wrong. When Bard revealed the Arkenstone he didn’t expect Thorin to react the way he did, or the other members of the Company to back him. 

Bilbo stepped forward. “It’s no trick.” The dwarves fell silent. “The stone is real. I gave it to them.”

Thorin turned to face him. “You?” He asked with a shaky voice.

“I took it as my fourteenth share.”

“You would steal from me?” The dwarf questioned him, he looked hurt, betrayed.

“Steal from you?” Bilbo felt weary, his mind echoed Gandalf’s warning. Thorin had never accused him of anything before. “I may be a burglar, but I like to think I’m an honest one. I’m willing to let it stand against my claim.”

“Against your claim?” Thorin chuckled and shook his head ever so slightly. “Your claim?” Something snapped then and he advanced on the hobbit. “You have no claim over me, you miserable rat!”

Bilbo reeled. This wasn’t his intention, this was supposed to help, make him better. “I was going to give it to you,” he explained, desperately trying to make him understand, “many times I wanted to, but…”

“But what, thief?” That last word was filled with so much contempt, not the off hand endearment ‘burglar’ had become.

“You are changed, Thorin,” Bilbo said, through with trying to coax the dwarf back to who he used to be. If he could see it himself, he would have to be direct. “The dwarf I met in Bag End would never have gone back on his word, would never have doubted the loyalty of his kin!”

“Do not speak to me of loyalty,” Thorin spat. There was a tense pause. “Throw him from the rampart!”

The world seemed to stop in that moment. Bilbo stared at Thorin, unable to believe he would say such a thing. Even in the throes of madness, this wasn’t him. It couldn’t be. He wouldn’t.

No one else moved either, it was like everyone was holding their breath, waiting to see what would happen next. 

“Did you not hear me?” Thorin’s voice cut through the stillness of the air. “I will do it myself.” 

Still refusing to abandon his hope of bringing his Thorin back, Bilbo didn’t move when the dwarf tried to grab him. Fili made an attempt to stop his uncle, but he was thrown back. 

“I curse you!” Thorin shouted as he maneuvered them to the wall, pressing Bilbo back until he was leaning over the edge. 

With nothing else to support him but Thorin’s grip on his shirt, Bilbo grasped his arms. His vision blocked by Thorin, there was nowhere to look but into his eyes, when the dwarf looked back his heart jumped. 

There was still hope. He could see it, buried deep beneath the sickness, a spark of the dwarf he used to be and could still become.

“If you don’t like my burglar, then please don’t damage him,” Gandalf called from below, his voice loud and ominous, “return him to me.”

Thorin looked away from Bilbo and down at the wizard. “You’re not making a very splendid figure as King under the Mountain, are you, Thorin, son of Thrain?”

Thorin’s expression hardened as Gandalf spoke, his grip on the front of Bilbo’s coat tightened. “Never again will I have dealings with wizards!” he snarled and hauled the hobbit up so his feet dangled in the air, “or Shire rats,” his voice dangerously low.

Bilbo held on to Thorin’s arms, his legs kicked to find some purchase on the wall, he trusted that Thorin wouldn’t let go. Bilbo wasn’t afraid of him.

It felt like wind. 

Pulling at his hair and rushing past his ears, biting at his skin and drawing the breath from his lungs. Much like the times he fell out of tall trees when he was a young faunt, only this time it wasn’t soft earth that would greet him when he reached the ground.

As Bilbo lay motionless and broken on the rocks below the ramparts he saw Thorin leaning over the wall, though his vision was fading he could still see the wide eyes, clearer than they had been in weeks, he could see the shape of his name on his lips and then… nothing.


	7. Promise

They received the news from a raven. The sight of the great black bird in the sky brought hope, a sign that they had succeeded in their suicidal mission. When it spoke to them in halting, unpractised Westron the joy they felt after hearing the Mountain was reclaimed was dashed away. ‘The Sons of Durin have returned to stone.’ The bird croaked. ‘King Dain sits upon the throne and bids the swift return of the Longbeards.’ The Lords of the Ered Luin turned to Dis, waiting for a reaction, but she remained still, the only evidence of her hearing the news was the way her jaw occasionally clenched. 

“Spread the word,” she said eventually, “,repare the caravans, we will leave in groups of no more than one hundred and no more frequent than one group every two weeks. Faerin, you will remain and depart with the last group.” Dis stood, tall and proud as always. “Ready my guard, Ragi, I will ride ahead tomorrow. Good night.”

Even when she reached the privacy of her home Dis didn’t allow herself to grieve. She packed for her journey, nothing more than the essentials, the rest would be added to the first caravan to leave the mountains. In the morning she didn’t braid her hair with the usual intricate knots, a simple queue to keep it out of her face was all she could manage.

No one said a word as Dis mounted her pony and the small group set out in a similar silence, everyone knew their part in this company so there was nothing to say. The journey was uneventful for the most part, though there were fewer orcs living by the time they reached Erebor. 

The first person she saw was Dain, he stood before the front gate, the shock of red hair was visible from Dale. He met Dis with a hug and murmured apologies. 

She inclined her head slightly when he released her, when her gaze fell on the Raven Crown, Dis smiled grimly, “It fits you well.” 

“Aye, though it is yours if you wish,” Dain replied with an equally grim look.

Dis snorted and looked away, “we will speak of that matter another time,.”

“Dis…”

“I wish to rest,” she interrupted Dain before he could say what she knew he would, “the road was long and unforgiving.”

“Of course.” 

The second person she saw was Dwalin. He came to her room that night, no words were spoken, but she finally allowed herself to cry as he held her. In the morning she woke to find herself still in his arms, though they lay on the bed.  
Dwalin must have felt her moving because he drew in a deep breath before letting her go. He rolled over and rose from the bed, keeping his back to Dis as he spoke. “Forgive me, I shouldn’t have…”

“Do not apologise,” Dis told him, “thank you for staying with me.”

He nodded and turned around. “Would you like to see them?” 

“I’m not ready yet,” she whispered.

Dwalin sat back on the bed and drew Dis close. “It will hurt for a long time, nun’el, but you don’t have to hurt alone.”

The third person she saw was a red haired elf named Tauriel. Dis didn’t hold the same grudge her oldest brother had, though she never viewed the elves with particularly high regard. Tauriel approached her as Dis explored the market set up in one of the great halls. Here gathered men and dwarves and the occasional elf.

“Is there somewhere we can speak in private, Lady Dis?” She asked in hushed voice.

She obliged and led the elf to her room. Tauriel stood and fiddled with something in her hand until Dis told her to sit. Nothing was said for a long while, Dis was content to wait, she had no use of words. 

Tauriel attempted to speak a few times, but every time she looked up to see Dis’ eyes on her she stopped. 

“What are you to him?” Dis eventually asked.

“I am not certain,” the elf said. “He told me something before he left, and I feel in my heart I know what it means, though I was scared to admit it.”

“What did he say?”

“Am- Amarlim…” Tauriel sighed, her fingers clenched around the object in her hand. 

“Amrâlimê.”

“Yes.” 

The elf held opened her hand to reveal the stone Dis had given to her youngest son, the surface seemed smoother than last she saw it, but the runes were still visible. Tauriel held it out for her to take, but she shook her head. 

“Keep it,” she said.

“But-”

“To you it is a symbol of his love, for me it is nothing more than a broken promise. You keep it.”

It was late when she went to see them, she dismissed the guards at the entrance and walked slowly to the three stone tombs. Dis kept her face blank even though there was no reason to hold it in anymore. She walked between the pyers, traced her fingers over the words proclaiming the people held within, it was only when she felt the shape of a familiar name that it struck her in full force.

Dis backed away and stared at the tombs, the last of her family sealed away forever. The scream echoed around the room and she folded under the weight of realisation. 

She pounded the ground until her knuckles were bloody, screamed ‘til her throat was raw and wept, she begged the Maker to spare her from anymore heartache, that the curse that haunted the Line of Durin end with her. ‘No more, no more.’

Later as she sat on the floor with her back resting against Kili’s grave Dis realised she had never been to a funeral. Her mother killed during the worm’s attack on the mountain, her grandfather, husband and brother were amongst the Burned of Azanulbizar, her father lost in the aftermath. She had lost everyone, but she had never been there to say goodbye.


	8. Wait 'til Tomorrow

“But mama, I wanna open mine now!” Kíli bobbed up and down as he knelt beside the tree, large brown eyes silently pleaded with his mother who sat by the fire with a large glass of red wine in one hand and a sleeping baby Frodo supported with the other as she watched the TV. 

“You know the rules, sweetie.” Dís smiled warmly at her son. “You’ve already had your present for today, you’ll have to wait ‘til tomorrow to open the rest, Santa hasn’t been to deliver the rest of the presents.”

“But ma!” The boy whined.

“Shush!” She gave him a warning look. “You’ll wake Frodo.”

“Fiiine.” He sighed and stopped his fidgeting. “When’s dad getting back?” 

“Later, dear.” Dís took a sip of her wine and set the glass down on the coffee table. “Why don’t you go help your brother in the kitchen?”

Kíli gave his mother a toothy grin and hurried off to find his brother. Soon after the boys came back into the lounge proudly bearing a glass of milk and a plate crammed with cookies and a single large carrot balanced on top.

“Very good, boys.” Dís said. “Why don’t you put them over on the sideboard, I’m sure Santa will find them there.”

Her sons did so then returned to sit on the sofa and watch TV with their mother, it wasn’t long before they fell asleep no matter how determined they were to stay up until their father and Uncles came home. Dís decided to leave them be, the amount of noise the men would make when they got in would wake them anyway, so she carefully draped a blanket over the two of them and sat back in her chair.

Dís was just starting to drift off when she heard the door open. Whispered conversation drifted down the hall, at least it was an attempt at whispered conversation. As predicted, the men woke the boys who leapt off the sofa and rushed their father as he tried to get into the house. The commotion startled Frodo who began to cry, but he was easily calmed by Dís. She rolled her eyes at the men when they apologised. 

The excitement soon died down and the boys started to flag. Víli offered to take the boys and Bilbo held his hands out to take the baby Frodo but Dís told them all to sit down and tucked the children into bed herself. 

When she got back to the lounge she saw the men had already tucked into the cookies, most of them, anyway. Frerin was happily munching away on carrot. Dís shook her head, reclaimed her chair and glass of wine. 

“A good night then?” She asked them. 

The general consensus was positive, which was good thing. No one seemed too far gone, just merrily drunk and well into the festive spirit. Thorin had acquired a set of reindeer antlers at some point and she was pleased to see no one had ‘accidentally’ lost their Christmas jumpers she had sent them out in. Dís recalled the amount of complaining from her husband and oldest brother, but they obviously appreciated the warmth the articles of clothing afforded them. 

Víli perched on the arm of her chair, his hand found hers as they sat and talked about nothing in particular. They stayed up until the fire began to burn low, a few more drinks were poured as they arranged the rest of gifts at the base of the tree, and then drifted off to bed, fully aware that Fíli and Kíli would wake at the crack of dawn. 

Sure enough, before anyone’s alarm went off, Dís and Víli were thrust into consciousness by two very awake and excited little boys. 

“Merry Christmas!” They shouted in unison. 

“Mmhm.” Said Dís, willing her eyes to open. Thankfully, her husband had taken control of the situation, so she rolled over and let him handle it. 

“Merry Christmas, my little terrors!” Víli greeted their sons with far too much enthusiasm for this time of the morning. “Have you been to see if Santa’s been yet?”

“Not yet.” Said Kíli. “Do you think he would like cookies? Mama says he usually has mince pies, but Uncle Bilbo says he always makes cookies and Santa would get confused if he came to Bag End and didn’t find cookies waiting for him.”

Víli chuckled. “I’m sure he loves cookies.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.” Fíli said, the smile on his face audible in his voice. “I bet he ate them all up and still has crumbs in his mustache.” 

“What, like da does?”

“Just like da.”

“Dad?” Kíli asked very seriously. “Did Santa share the cookies with you?”

“Why yes!” Her husband gave a theatrical gasp and Dís snorted into the pillow. “He even let me feed the carrot to Rudolph!”

“Ooh, is he nice?” Kíli bounced on the bed waiting for his answer. “Did he say how good me and Fee have been this year?”

“He was very nice and he said you two have been such good boys.” Víli prodded Dís then. “Your mum scared him off though, he was enjoying the cookies so much he wanted to take the whole batch, but mum said she’d chop his beard off if he went into the kitchen to get more.”

“That’s a lie.” Dís mumbled and finally rolled back over to face the rest of her family, she had to smile when she saw the look of horror on Kíli’s face and the matching grins of her husband and eldest child. “I reminded him that there would be none left for my little boys and that perhaps he should save room for all the wonderful things other families had made for him.”

This calmed her youngest son a little but Víli made a cutting motion with his fingers and tugged at his short beard. Dís tutted and threw her pillow at him and prayed that he didn’t see the wide smile on her face as she ran out of the room.


	9. Runes

“It should not be this difficult.” Thorin almost shouted. His fists hit the table and the two small beads resting in the centre nearly rolled onto the floor. 

“Why don’t you just put the traditional runes on them?” Dwalin suggested.

“Because,” Thorin sighed, “this is not exactly a traditional engagement.”

It was late, he was tired but the beads were to be presented the next day and they were still undecorated. The temptation to just give in and carve the usual glyphs was great, but he was determined to make them unique to his and Bilbo’s partnership, the only problem was he was having difficulty finding a word or phrase that encompassed the amount of love he held for his future husband. 

“If you don’t think of something soon, you’ll be giving them to him plain.” Dwalin grinned then. “Not that he would complain, I think Bilbo would let you give him wooden beads and still be delighted, as long as they came from you.”

“Come now, Dwalin.” Thorin gave him a reproachful look. “That was unkind.”

The larger dwarf cocked an eyebrow and gestured to himself. 

“You are right, of course.” Thorin mused. “Perhaps he would prefer wooden beads.”

Dwalin fixed Thorin with a level gaze. “Just don’t be up all night. Again.”

Thorin gave a noncommittal grunt as Dwalin got up and left the room. 

He stared at the beads for a long time, as if he was willing some great inscription to suddenly appear, when one failed to show Thorin snatched the beads off the table and went to find a smithy room. It shouldn’t have taken long, but Thorin was more used to making practical things rather than decorating, so he ended up working until the sun began to rise in order to make sure the beads were perfect.

-

Thorin eagerly watched Bilbo’s face as he inspected the shining beads, each on intricately carved with letters spelling out the words Thorin chose. He was waiting for the hobbit to smile that golden smile, to look up at him with love in his eyes and say ‘my silly dwarf’ so only they could hear. Instead he got a smile, genuine but not beaming and he said ‘they’re beautiful’ and turned to let Thorin braid them into his hair. 

“Do you not like the words?” Thorin asked, confused that Bilbo wouldn’t mention them. 

“There are words on them?” Bilbo looked equally confused as he peered over his shoulder. 

“...Yes.” 

“Thorin, I can’t read Khuzdul.”

“Oh.”

Bilbo grinned and turned back to face Thorin, he took his hands and squeezed lightly. “Tell me what they say.”

“Of course.” Thorin smiled at his future husband and made him turn around again.

It wasn’t easy, Bilbo’s hair was still rather short, but he managed. As he wove strands of hair together and slid the beads into place, Thorin’s mouth was constantly moving, though no one but Bilbo heard his words. 

“This one says Home. Though this mountain shelters me from harsh sun and gusting wind, keeps off the rain and snow, it is not my true home. Any four walls could do the same as this mountain. Home is when I am with you. This one says Heart. It is yours for now and forever, and I feel that it always was, even when I didn’t know it. You carry it with you wherever you may go. My heart belongs to you.”

It was done, the beads would take some getting used to and Bilbo couldn’t help the way his hands kept drifting to touch them, but it was almost comforting. 

“I love you, my silly dwarf.” Bilbo said quietly, standing on tiptoes to kiss Thorin.

“And I you.”


	10. Thread

_An invisible thread connects those who are destined to meet. regardless of time, place or circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle, but will never break. Once bound to your soul mate your destiny is set, no matter what you think._   


* * *

  
It started in Mirkwood as they fought off the spiders and were unintentionally saved by elves. Kíli felt it before they even appeared, he wrote it off as yet another strange symptom of being in the forest. His world momentarily stopped when a dagger flew past his head and ended up buried to the hilt in the creature attacking him, just as his eyes met with those of a fiery elven warrior.

The strange tugging in his chest continued as they were escorted to their cells, he felt compelled to keep the Guard Captain nearby, judging by the way her gaze kept flitting over to him, she obviously felt it as well. They talked most nights. She wasn’t like the others, they were distant and cool, she was like a warm summer breeze.

It was a while before Kíli learned her name. Tauriel. It sounded perfect.

When they escaped their prison, the tugging in his chest became rather insistent. It was best to be forgotten, at least for now, there was a greater task at hand. If the old tales were true, he could always follow it back to her.

There was one moment, brief like a lightning flash, that he saw it in the light that radiated from her as she spoke a healing incantation. It was beautiful, it surrounded them, coiled in the air like smoke. Kíli would remember it for the rest of his life. 

That vision is what kept him fighting. Kíli could feel himself dying, the chances of surviving the injuries sustained from that orc scum were slim. After he fell, it was like he was watching a scene from a play. She wrapped herself around his body and wept. Her shaking hands touched his face and tried to stop the blood, when it seemed hopeless she placed an echo of a kiss on his lips.

Kíli couldn’t guess how much time had passed, needless to say it was too much judging by the reactions of the company when he woke. They piled into his room, all smiles and cheers and cautious hugs. There were two missing, no… three. The wait was agony and no one answered his questions on the whereabouts of his uncle and brother.

They came, though. Fíli limped into the room with a blinding smile and Thorin followed shortly after with relief written all over his face. They told him that Bilbo had headed back to the Shire to set his affairs in order and that he would return with the same caravan that bore Dís.

 

Everyone eventually left so he could sleep, no matter how much he tossed and turned it wouldn’t come. The now familiar tug in heart was almost painful.

The weeks and months of rehabilitation were like torture, all Kíli wanted to do was take a pony, ride to Mirkwood and find her. His kin were alive and well, he was well on his way. but the way his chest ached… he just knew something wasn’t right. He needed to see her.

His mother fussed over him when she arrived, though Bilbo was enough of a distraction for him to slip away every now and then to send a raven to her with a message. Each time the bird came back with the same news. ‘I could not find her.’

As soon as the opportunity presented itself he offered to travel to Mirkwood with whatever treaty or agreement that needed attention. Kíli wanted to do his job as a Prince of Erebor, but his other motives were more personal. When his quiet enquiries of her whereabouts were met with silence, he went and asked the Elvenking where she was.

“Exiled.” He said in that chilling voice. “A lenient punishment considering her crimes.”

“And what crimes did she commit, may I ask?”

“Treason and a threat of kinslaying, things we do not take lightly.”

And that was that. He was dismissed.

Kíli was resolute, he would send three more ravens and then he would search for her himself. It did eventually come to that, knowing that no one but his brother (and perhaps Bilbo) would understand, he left a note on his bed and stole away in the night.

The nights made him gloomy. Whenever sleep eluded him he would stare up at the sky and try to count the stars. He would wonder if she was looking as well.

He found her near the northern border of Lothlorien. She stood, tall and resplendent in her velvet gown of midnight blue, waiting. He could see the way her breath hitched when their eyes met. There was no grace in their reunion. There were tears and hasty kisses, whispered words of ‘I missed you.’

“I felt something,” Tauriel said, “something was calling me here tonight.”

“Have you ever heard of the Red String of Fate?” Kíli asked her.

“No.”

His eyes never left her face as he spoke, though she occasionally looked away to gaze at the clear sky studded with twinkling stars. She smiled every now and then, before he finished their hands were entwined. 

“It is destiny.” He told her. “We are connected, you and I, no matter where you might have gone I would always find my way back to you.”


	11. "It's Too Much"

They say the brighter a star shines, the faster it dies.

Frerin knew before he saw their face, before he knew their name. When he caught that first glimpse of them as he rushed into his first history lesson ten minutes late… that is when he knew. He spent the entire time staring at the back of their head marvelling at the way the torch light made their hair glitter and skin glow.

Jaana, their name was Jaana. They knew when they turned to scoff at yet another of Frerin’s late arrivals. Frerin pretended not to notice the way they kept stealing glances over their shoulder.

It was months before either of them gathered the courage to talk to each other. They knew it was silly, but it was still scary. Of course after that first word they were inseparable. Their history lessons were spent making jokes, long afternoons on the shores of the lake and in the evenings they stole away to one of the smaller choir chambers to talk about nothing.

Neither of them were of age, but everyone knew, preparations for their union were in motion before they had seen fifteen years pass. The finding of a One in a Mer was special enough, but with Frerin and Jaana it was something else. ‘Destiny’ some called it. ‘A match made by the Valar’ said others.

So it was to be expected that Frerin was beyond any measure of grief after Erebor fell, despite being only nineteen years of age, he wept as he held the broken body of his One in his arms. The family of Jaana wanted him to stay, they clutched at his clothing and tried to drag him back. He stayed for the funeral. As soon as it was over he moved swiftly to catch up with the Dwarves of Erebor.

One foot in front of the other, eyes fixed on the ground or the horizon, there was no looking back. His feet ached, so did his back, but the greatest pain he bore was that of a shattered heart. Nothing else compared. Trudging along with what remained of Durin’s folk was easy.

They never settled anywhere for long. Work was sparse, living off nothing but the earth was out of the question. There were too many of them. Talk turned to reclaiming Moria as they travelled West.

The march went on until they reached Ered Luin. The ruins of Belegost were salvageable, but hope wasn’t lost. They could build a new home and so they did. Despite prospering in the Blue Mountains, that whisper of an idea never quite went away.

“You cannot.” His Grandfather insisted when Frerin said he wanted to join them.

“I must.” Frerin said. “There is nothing here for me, all I could ever wish for is buried beneath silt and ash.”

“It will be dangerous.”

“I know.”

And so Frerin went with the army to take back the halls of their forefathers.

It was more of a massacre than a battle. Corpses littered the ground, torn and rent rather than burned, but the carnage was the same. Frerin saw a dwarrowdam leaning against a rock, she could have been sleeping if not for the strange angle of her neck.

No matter how many times the Dwarves threw their strength against the orcs they would not yield. When Azog beheaded Thror they almost lost heart. Almost.

Frerin tried to fight his way towards the pale orc with no regard of what was going on around him. There was so much chaos it was near impossible to discern friend from foe, which was how Frerin found himself surrounded my orcs and goblins with no chance of escape.

He fought, he did, but he felt nothing. Blades and arrows pierced him, blood covered his broken armour, his own sword had broken at some point, but he hacked away at the bodies around him. He didn’t want to get out, he just wanted to take as many of these filthy bastards with him.

Even after the strength in Frerin’s legs failed he held on, slaying any who dared venture close enough for him to reach. It wasn’t long until the remains of his sword fell from his hand and his head lolled back. It wouldn’t be long.

He couldn’t feel anything. He hadn’t felt anything but the missing piece of his heart for nearly thirty years. A few cuts and scratches were nothing to him.

Frerin could hear Thorin speaking, desperate words, pleading, begging, broken words. 

“I was never going to come out of this alive, brother.” Frerin said haltingly. Breathing was difficult.

“You will live, Frerin, we will get you to a healer.”

“No.” Frerin coughed and then winced. “It is too much. Living… it is too much.”

“He is talking nonsense.” A distant voice said. Dwalin?

“It is only my body dying today.” He told them. “My heart died many years ago.”

The story of Frerin and Jaana was passed down through the generations as one of the great tragedies of the age, there were others, of course. Flash flood romances ended too soon.


	12. Routine

One thing Bilbo missed the most was waking whenever he wanted to. A morning pipe with his first breakfast followed as a close second. Back in the Shire he had a way of doing things, while his time of the road with a number of dwarves happily threw that regularity right out of the window, Bilbo rather thought it was something he could look forward to returning to.

Not that Bilbo didn’t figure out a new routine as soon as possible once life in Erebor settled down, he tried to keep it as close to his one in the Shire, but it was always interrupted by one thing or another. A summons from Bombur asking about a detail in a recipe, or Gloin inviting him to meet his family with barely a moment’s notice, or Ori dragging him away to question him about his time in the Goblin Tunnels in order to complete his book. There was always something.

Another thing, not one to complain about, was Thorin.

He would come in after a long day of Kinging, flop down next to Bilbo as he read by the fire and press a kiss to his forehead. Normally, that would be that, Thorin would go and remove his formal attire and they would read and tell each other how their days had been until they decided to eat.

There are always exceptions to this though, sometimes Thorin would nuzzle Bilbo’s neck and that stupid, proud, cold nose would press into his nice, warm skin. Or he would crash through the door, looking very much like a thundercloud and rant about ‘those damned Elves’. Bilbo would listen patiently and offer advice, even if it was seldom heeded.

What really threw Bilbo was mealtimes. Dwarves ate far less often than Hobbits. Only two or three meals a day, apparently. Of course the kitchen staff were more than happy to cater for the Consort, and Bilbo was more than used to eating alone, he had done it for years after his mother passed away. After a while, Bilbo found that he was eating less. Maybe not less, but he was able to curb his appetite and eat his meals with his friends, even if his portions were generous.

It was not a bad life, it took some getting used to, but it wasn’t bad.

They had already agreed, Bilbo and Thorin, that when Fíli was ready to rule, they would both return to the Shire.

‘Not to Bag End, though.’ Thorin said.

“Where else would we go?”

“I will build you a new home. I will build us a new home with nothing from our pasts to haunt us, besides, it would be quite rude to kick your dear cousins out.”

So a couple of decades later they set out from the Mountain and headed west. Bilbo would show Thorin how things were done in the Shire, where there was no need for urgency, where the biggest quarrel a person could have would be over the price of goods at the market, where everything was as it should be.

Nothing had changed. It was almost exactly as Bilbo had left it so many years ago. It was hardly surprising, change here was slow. Everyone had a set way of doing things and any respectable Hobbit would stick to that routine.

Thorin, however, was a Dwarf and his mere presence was enough to send the Shire into an uproar. Bilbo’s neighbours pretended not to stare or walk the long way to The Green Dragon so they passed his smial for the first few weeks, soon everything settled down again. It took longer than expected, but the first morning Bilbo woke up late to smell of sizzling bacon and freshly baked bread, it was definitely worth the wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at [me](http://andalusa.tumblr.com) or [Strife](http://striving-artist.tumblr.com) if you need to


End file.
